Emily was in love with her costume. Not as much as she loved Chris, but then there wasn’t really a love scale such things could be measured against. She’d already had the why do humans say they love both each other and hot dogs conversation with Hyperion and hoped it would never come up again.

The dress was as soft as Meagan had promised, the ensemble consisting of a wrap skirt and an open-front tunic top, belted at the waist and layered over a blouse of the same material. The fabric was a rich emerald green for Emily and burgundy for Meagan, both with patterns that Emily was sure held secret meanings. The whole was light and flowing, thoroughly Western, yet invoking the impression of a kimono which was reinforced by the cat animatronics. Meagan’s opinion was that impression was more important than reality, and significantly easier to pull off.

Now, standing in a roiling crowd of people dressed as everything from clowns to lions, to serial killers who, according to Wednesday Adams all looked like normal people, or in this case, normal suit-wearing business people.  She had to admit that Meagan had been right about them drawing attention, she’d expected Meagan to draw every eye in the room, but the weight of the stares cast her way was something she’d never expected to experience.

It was intoxicating, and, at the same time, and for the same reason, terrifying.

Hyperion stuck close, serving as their personal guard, even if he wouldn’t have admitted it, pressing up against their legs whenever they stood still and occasionally batting lazily at one of their tails, which elicited a good deal of laughter from those around them. His rumbles, purrs, and chirps went ignored by the press of people around him except for Meagan, who was hard-pressed not to roll her eyes at his private, always uncensored, and frequently profane monologue.